


tiny bitch

by theuniverseishers



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff, Humour, Not Canon Compliant, becky has a cat named banana, they're all in their early to mid 20s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29739675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theuniverseishers/pseuds/theuniverseishers
Summary: "Everyone calls her that because she’s kinda small and, you know, kind of a bitch.”
Relationships: Becky Barnes/Linda Monroe, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins, Tom Houston/Jane Perkins
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	tiny bitch

**Author's Note:**

> TW: alcohol
> 
> there are probably a ton of mistakes i missed during editing. oops!

Becky loves her cat Banana. The gangly, sleek siamese is unashamedly one of her best friends, and ever since she left Stanley and moved to a new place to “get away from everything”, Banana has been a bright spot during some dark days. The only problem is that Banana loves… exploring. All it takes is a slight crack in the front door of the apartment for maybe five seconds, and Banana’s slipped away to wherever it is she loves to disappear to.

One way or another, though, she finds her way back home. Usually, it’s after one of the neighbours returns her to Becky. Honestly, if it weren’t for Banana’s escapades, Becky probably wouldn’t know anyone who lived in her building, let alone her floor. It’s how she met her friend Tom, his girlfriend Jane, and cranky little Emma Perkins who has all but moved into Becky’s apartment, never without complaints of having to witness her sister and Tom in their seemingly never ending honeymoon phase. Becky’s not heartless, of course, so she lets the brunette bunk with her some nights. Banana seems to like her anyways, so it all worked out in the end.

Anyway, it’s become almost routine for Becky to open her door at least once a week to a neighbour coming by with Banana in their arms. So, this time around, when there’s a knock on her door and the apparent absence of one siamese cat in her small, one-bedroom apartment, she’s already started reciting her usual spiel as she’s opening the door.

“Hey! Thank you so much for bringing Banana ba– Oh, you’re pretty.”

The stunning blonde woman holding her cat in her arms eyes Becky with confusion. “Excuse me?” she asks, apparently refusing to let Becky off the hook for her inappropriate comment.

Becky blinks, her face heating up faster than her crappy, decade-old laptop trying to run Spotify. Scrambling, she tries her best to save face. “I, um.. You’re pretty new, I think? Well, new to my door. Usually it’s someone else dropping Banana off, so I didn’t expect you to show up. Can I start over? Hi, I’m Becky.”

The unimpressed stare the blonde is giving her tells Becky she’s not doing a very good job at making a decent first impression. Becky’s usually much better at talking to people. It’s one of her most marketable skills. But there’s something about this woman that’s intimidating her in more ways than one. Her head is level with Becky’s shoulders, but the glare she’s giving is more than enough to make up for the jarring height difference. Or Becky feels small, anyways. And while the woman’s outfit comprising of a long-sleeved shirt, yoga pants and sandals make her feel approachable, her cold scowl definitely says otherwise.

Becky feels herself shrinking with each passing second that she looks at her, and yet she can’t seem to look away. Not until the woman holds Banana out and says, “Stop losing your cat.”

“Yup, Sorry,” Becky quickly responds, taking Bananas back and cradling her rather awkwardly proportioned body in her arms. She tickles the cat’s furry belly and fake lectures her. “You’ve officially lost your Netflix privileges for a month, missy. Now, what do we say to the.. Hey, sorry again, but what’s your–”

The mystery woman is already gone.

* * *

“Oh, hey, you finally met Tiny Bitch!”

Becky raises an eyebrow as she scratches at the label of her beer with much too much focus. “The who now?

Emma leans back in her chair and kicks one of her feet up on Becky’s coffee table. “Tiny Bitch,” she says, as if that’s supposed to answer all her questions. “She lives on the floor above us, been here for almost a year now. Everyone calls her that because she’s kinda small and, you know, kind of a bitch.”

Becky swats her foot off the table and frowns. “Well first of all, you’re one to talk about being small. And B, that’s so mean! Do you even know her real name?”

Emma sticks her tongue out at the redhead, one of her more mature moves of the night, and scoffs. “I never said being small was bad. And I do. It’s Linda. But everyone calls her Tiny Bitch.”

Linda.

Huh.

It’s an elegant name for the kind of woman who’d probably be royalty in another life. Even Emma makes it sound beautiful, and she isn't exactly the most sophisticated person. Becky tries it out, saying “Linda” softly and finding that it has a lovely, satisfying quality to it.

“So, when are you gonna ask her out?”

Had Becky been drinking her beer, she certainly would have spit it back out. Instead, she lets out a litany of odd sputtering noises that don’t even phase the cat dozing on her lap. “Uh, wh– Excuse me?”

“Oh please, you’re _so_ into her,” Emma snickers, taking another sip of her beer. She has a mischievous, nearly evil sort of glint in her eye, like she knows something Becky doesn’t. Becky doesn’t quite like it very much.

“I’m straight,” Becky huffs, offended for some reason. It’ll probably become clear to her later. “And I don’t even know her!”

“Yeah, but you want to.”

“That…” Becky realizes that she can’t dispute that because the truth is that she kind of _does_ want to know more about this Linda person. More out of curiosity than anything else, of course, regardless of whatever Emma had to say about her sexuality. Linda just seems like an interesting person, and Becky’s always been curious, and that’s that. Nothing more. “That’s irrelevant.”

Emma chuckles. “Whatever you say, Becks. Fair warning, though, she does _not_ like people.”

* * *

Against her better judgement, Becky decides to put that theory to the test. After a bit of asking around, she manages to find out where Linda’s apartment is and, armed with a breakfast burrito ensconced safely in aluminium foil wrap, she knocks on the door with a bit too much eagerness.

She takes a breath and tells herself, “Alright, dial it back, Becky. You’re just here to say hi. And apologize about Banana. And give her an apology burrito. That’s all.”

Unspoken – and stupidly hopeful – parts of her plan include getting to know Linda a little better, maybe even be welcomed into her apartment, and maybe even sharing the breakfast burrito with her new best friend. Friend. Neighbour. It’s whatever.

Again, despite knowing she’ll see Linda when the door opens, Becky still finds herself at a loss for words when the woman comes into view. This time around, the small _non-bitch_ woman is wearing a long pair of paint splattered overalls and a wrinkled white undershirt. Her hair is done in a tight bun, and Becky can see droplets of sweat along her forehead. Along with that all-too-familiar scowl.

All in all, it’s much more casual than Becky is expecting. Of course, she _has_ seen the woman in sweatpants, but there’s something incredibly sophisticated about Linda, like the blonde drinks Rosé on luxurious yachts in her spare time. And of course, Becky knows next to nothing about the woman and can only estimate that Linda is around her age, and they’re living in the same shitty apartment building in downtown Hatchetfield, so Becky knows that this isn’t even remotely a possibility. But still. It makes way too much sense, it’s almost a crime that Linda _isn’t_ an aristocratic woman with a malewife and four illegitimate children.

“What do you want?” Linda asks, cutting through Becky’s wandering thoughts.

“Hi!” Becky squeaks in a higher-pitched voice than usual. “I-It’s Linda, right?”

When Linda doesn’t respond, Becky clears her throat and tries again – with her normal voice this time. “I’m here because I wanted to say thank you for bringing Banana back. And that I’m sorry if she messed up your apartment in any way.”

“She wasn’t in my apartment.”

Gosh, the way Linda responds so quickly makes Becky self-conscious, like maybe she should be speaking faster, too. “She didn’t? Uh, she wasn’t?”

Linda nods slightly towards a spot behind Becky. “She was in the hallway. Someone said she belonged to you.”

“Oh, well she doesn’t belong to me, not really. I mean, she’s a wild spirit who likes to roam, so I don’t really–” Becky cuts herself off at Linda’s ever deepening scowl. “But anyways! Thank you for bringing her back. I figured I owed you an explanation. And I made a breakfast burrito as a thank you gift.” She holds out the burrito like it’s the Valentine’s Day card she made for her crush in elementary school – arms straight, head bowed to hide the ruddiness of her freckled cheeks, and the distinct feeling of embarrassment creeping into her slowly. “And an apology.”

Brown eyes deliberately go from the food and back to Becky’s uncertain, not-brown eyes. “You made this for me?” Linda asks with maybe some curiosity? Truthfully, that might just be wishful thinking on Becky’s part.

“Yes!” Becky exclaims, then backtracks when she realizes that that might have been too forward, “W-well, I made it for me first because, you know, I like breakfast burritos and then I figured ‘Hey, why not give it to the pretty– uh… P-pretty decent woman, er, person who saved my cat?’ It isn’t a big deal, really, I like cooking.”

Linda looks thoroughly unimpressed with the redhead’s babbling, and it only serves to fluster Becky even further. She stumbles over her words as she scrambles to find a way to continue the one-sided conversation.

“It’s got all the makings of a good breakfast burrito: eggs, chorizo, pico de gallo, avocado...” This is absolutely embarrassing, Becky decides. Downright mortifying. “It’s a breakfast burrito. F-for your brekkie,” she finishes lamely, then winces at herself.

Brekkie? _Really?_

“I’m allergic to tomatoes.”

“Wh-”

Linda closes the door in her face.

* * *

“Brekkie.”

“Yes.”

“ _Brekkie._ ”

Becky sighs, burying her face in her hands to hide from the sympathetic, amused looks she knows Jane and Emma are giving her. “Yeah,” she groans, feeling the heavy weight of embarrassment settle onto her shoulders as she recalls the events of her second run in with Linda. It had all gone horribly wrong so, so quickly. She’s already more than ready to move on and shove that meeting with Linda into a little box in the darkest corner of her stupid little mind.

She’s only glad that Banana isn’t around to witness her humiliation.

“Hey, what’d I miss?” Tom asks, kissing the top of Jane’s head as he returns from the kitchen with a brand new bottle of beer in hand. He settles comfortably onto the loveseat next to his girlfriend. Jane quickly shuffles to accommodate Tom on the cozy little couch, and they mould so naturally and comfortably into each other that Emma jeers loudly and Becky scowls at them.

“Becky said ‘brekkie’ in front of Tiny Bitch,” Jane volunteers, pressing a chaste kiss onto Tom’s cheek. Emma turns her jeering efforts to Becky with a loud laugh as she’s reminded of the incident again, undeterred by the paper ball thrown at her by the redhead.

“Aw, Becky,” Tom laughs, much worse at hiding his amusement than his girlfriend. Jane swats at him scoldingly, but laughs along with him.

Becky teeters backwards into the back of her chair, letting out a loud groan. “I know!” she whines. “It was so embarrassing. She’s just so- She makes me so nervous, and I don’t even know why!”

Tom, Jane and Emma all seem to pause and exchange brief, knowing glances. Becky notices.

“Hey! Hey. I saw that. What was that?” she demands, sitting up at attention.

“What was what?” Jane asks, playing the role of innocent bystander a little too perfectly. Tom just grins goofily at her, taking a sip of his beer instead of answering her question.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Nothing. We’re just laughing about how cute your little crush on Tiny Bitch is.”

“Emma!” Jane admonishes.

“What?” Becky nearly yells at the same time. “What crush? There’s no crush! There is a severe, apparent lack of a crush here. I don’t have a crush on anyone. Maybe you’re just projecting your feelings for her on me!”

“Woah,” Emma cackles in delight, much to Becky’s flustered dismay. “Denial, much?”

The blush on Becky’s cheeks only deepens at this. “Wh- I- You-” she splutters, wholly unable to form a coherent sentence in light of this accusation.

Where in the world did _this_ come from all of a sudden? Becky had sworn off all types of romance after the doozy that was her failed relationship with Stanley. She could not be having a crush right now. And besides, she’s straight!

“Oh, sweetheart, you are definitely not straight,” Jane suddenly says, as if she’s read her mind.

Becky turns to Tom, wild eyed and almost certainly about to explode if the situation isn’t diffused soon. His eyes widen, and he shuffles to the edge of his seat to reach out and rest a comforting hand on Becky’s trembling knee in his awkward way of comforting her. “Chill out for a sec, Becks,” he soothes, patting her knee with his bear paw of a hand.

He turns to Jane for help after a moment of struggling to find the right words to say. Jane smiles her best soothing therapist smile at the redhead. “Don’t worry about it for now, okay?”

From somewhere to her right, Becky hears Emma snort, “Yeah, let’s worry about the fact that you thought ‘brekkie’ was an okay thing to say under any circumstances.”

At this, Becky breaks down into bouts of uncontrollable giggles, and she’s soon joined by the others. She casts a warm glance around the room and decides that she really, really likes having her friends around, teasing be damned.

* * *

The next time Becky sees Linda, it’s because she nearly kills her.

Well, okay, that may be a little bit of an exaggeration. She just spilled coffee on Linda while trying to get out of the elevator. But if the coffee was a hundred degrees hotter like it had been when Becky had first poured it into her travel mug, it totally would’ve melted Linda’s skin off. Instead, it just gets all over her white dress shirt and causes her to shoot a glare that makes Becky weak in the knees. Out of fright, of course. Nothing more.

Becky’s adamant in helping her clean up the spill, following her into the public restroom connected to the lobby despite Linda telling her not to. Without even checking to see if anyone’s inside, Linda unbuttons her shirt, takes it off, and runs it under the sink. “Perfect, this is just what I needed,” she grumbles, though Becky doesn’t think she’s supposed to hear that.

Becky checks the stalls herself, finding odd relief to know that they’re alone, and even locks the door so no one walks in on them. All while trying to hide the fact that the outlines of a black bra underneath Linda’s tank top kind of makes her go haywire. She’s a grown woman with her own boobs, dammit, she really should _not_ be getting this flustered over the _outline_ of a bra.

“Any way I can help?” she offers, keeping her eyes trained on the cloth in Linda’s hands.

“I think you’ve done enough,” Linda snaps without even looking at her.

Although it’s completely fair for Linda to be mad, it still hurts to hear. Becky notices her periodically having to take her hands out of the sink and shake off the water, and even though she’s already put her foot in her mouth enough for one lifetime, Becky says, “Cold water.”

She gets an annoyed glance her way for her troubles. “What?”

“Cold water helps with coffee stains. And soap. I-I’ve spilled a lot of coffee on myself.”

“That’s not surprising,” Linda says harshly, but turns the faucets so that cold water is now pouring onto her shirt. She even gets soap out of the dispenser and rubs it onto the stain.

“D-do you need another shirt? You can use mine,” Becky extends, unaware of how stupid those words are until it’s too late to take them back. Linda’s clearly dressed for some corporate job, and Becky’s wearing a shirt with an otter on it that says “Significant Otter”. It’s a wonderful pun, but definitely not proper office wear.

“I don’t want your shirt. I’m going back to my apartment.” Linda turns off the faucet and inspects her shirt. It’s drenched, but Becky’s happy to find that the ugly brown splotch seems to have disappeared.

“Well, let me do something else, then. As an apology.”

Linda lays her shirt down on the counter, ducks her head for a second and sighs, “Why?”

“Wh-why? What do you mean?”

Linda turns around and leans on the counter – _wow_ , she is small – eyeing the guilt-ridden coffee culprit with curiosity and a healthy dose of disdain. “Why are you trying so hard to get to know me?”

Becky wants to remark that she’s definitely tried harder to get to know someone before, but she figures Linda probably wouldn’t appreciate that answer. Instead, she says, “I don’t know? Because you’re interesting?”

“I’m… interesting.” Linda spits the word back at her like it’s sour, old milk.

“Well, yeah, you’re a lot different than anyone I know, and it’s interesting.” Becky thinks that there really might be something to her friends’ ridiculous crush theory, if the inexplicable pounding of her heart is any hint. But even if she actually does have a crush on Linda, chances are she wouldn’t appreciate being hit on by someone who’s just dumped coffee on her.

Linda raises a perfect eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a code word or something?”

“No! It’s not, I… Gosh, I really don’t know how else to say it. I don’t have this big, profound reason to want to know you, but–”

“Then why not just say that?”

“I’m sorry?”

Linda shrugs, and though she’s got that signature scowl on, her eyes have softened. Going from anger to something akin to annoyance. “Why didn’t you just say you don’t have a reason? You could have just said you wanted to talk to me or take me to lunch or something.”

Well, this is going much better than Becky had anticipated.

“Not anymore, obviously. But you could have.”

Ah, okay, no it’s not.

“Wait, why not anymore?” Becky asks dumbly.

“Because you blew it.” Linda stands back up and picks her sodden dress shirt off the counter. “Anyway, I have to go throw this in the wash. See you around, Brekkie Girl. Or not. Whatever.”

She reaches behind Becky and unlocks the door, striding out into the lobby before Becky can even turn to say goodbye.

“It’s- It’s Becky…”

* * *

“Holy crap, she shut you _down_!” Emma howls, immediately getting smacked on the arm by Becky, though her laughter doesn’t falter as she’s joined by Tom’s amused chuckling.

“Not funny,” she says with a scowl that nowhere near rivals Linda’s in intensity or believability. “And besides, there was nothing between us anyway, so there was nothing to shut down.”

Emma rubs her arm and rolls her eyes. “Please, like you’re not still totally in love with her.”

“Hey, I already told you – I’m straight.”

“Right. Define wanting to kiss Linda in the context of heterosexual.”

“Wh– I– I do not want to kiss her!”

All she gets are completely disbelieving stares from both Tom and Emma. Becky thinks that if Jane were here, she’d be getting a side serving of supportive-but-highly-amused doubt. She pouts.

“You could at least not use the super-strong-L-word,” she mumbles, sinking back into her seat, wishing it would swallow her whole. Or even eject her out the window. Anything to get out of this situation, really.

Emma puts her hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, fine. But hey, for what it’s worth, you were able to have a longer conversation with Tiny Bitch than anyone on this entire block. Or maybe even the whole city. So congratulations, you deserve a medal.”

Becky pulls her feet up onto the couch, pressing her knees to her chest. Aside from the fact that you shouldn’t just get a medal just for being a decent human being, something else about Emma’s comment rubs her the wrong way. “Is that really true? No one’s ever like, had a real conversation with Linda?”

“From what I’ve seen, you’re the first. But you aren’t the first one she’s shut down.” Tom offers as he scratches his scruffy beard. “I think I saw Paul try to talk to her the other day.”

Emma suddenly straightens, eyes widening with alert. “Paul Matthews, Paul?” she asks. “Paul talked to Linda?”

Tom doesn’t seem to notice the sudden change in Emma’s demeanour. Becky, on the other hand, stares and stares and stares at the barista. Huh, she thinks.

“Yeah, but it looked like she chased him off pretty quickly. Poor kid looked like a kicked puppy,” Tom laughs almost wistfully as he seems to remember the scene. Emma deflates a little, and Becky thinks she looks almost… Disappointed. “I mean, he probably should’ve known that he would never have had a chance with her. We don’t call her Tiny Bitch for nothing.”

Emma lets out a little huff of laughter. It’s the fakest noise Becky has ever heard. “Huh, I wouldn’t think he would have gone for someone like her,” she says, staring distractedly at the hem of her shorts.

Becky leans forward in her seat, eyes sparkling with poorly veiled interest. “So why are you so concerned about who Paul Matthews is interested in, Emma?”

Emma blinks in surprise for a moment, but she recovers quickly. She scoffs, “Who says I am? And don’t try to change the subject. We were talking about you and Linda. There is absolutely nothing between me and Paul Matthews.”

Tom accepts the request for a subject change easily, though Becky doesn’t think he quite understands what had just happened. Becky loves Tom, bless him, but the man could be a little.. Dense. 

“I think everyone’s just a little scared of her.” Tom shrugs.

“That’s really sad, don’t you think?” Becky asks with a frown. All she can imagine is Linda, alone in her apartment with an entire building of people who haven’t so much as said hi to her.

“Well she’s not exactly a friendly person,” Emma snorts. “She always looks like she’s two seconds away from ripping someone’s limbs off. That doesn’t exactly scream ‘hey come talk to me I want to be friends with you!, does it?”

“She seems like a pretty guarded person,” agrees Tom.

“But no one can be _that_ guarded, right?” Becky’s frown deepens as she rests her chin on her knees.

Tom shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe she just hates people.”

That image of Linda alone develops into a full picture in Becky’s mind. She sees Linda, eating alone on her couch without so much as a cat to turn to when something funny happens on the sho she’s binging. She sees Linda, coming home from work and slipping out of her clothes, collapsing onto her bed after another exhausting day at work with no one to talk to about it. She sees Linda, coming down from the elevator laden with groceries and no one to help her with it. She sees Linda surrounded by strangers that could be more than that if they would just turn around and at least ask how she was doing.

And maybe she’s wrong about all of these images, maybe she’s hardcore projecting the grief she still feels over the whole Stanley situation. But if she’s right, then… Then she has to do something about it.

Right?

“Holy crap, I think I might have a crush on Linda,” Becky gasps under her breath.

“You think?” Emma snickers.

* * *

Becky brings home a string of random guys from the bar over the course of two weeks. It definitely isn’t because she’s in denial over her feelings for Linda. That is actually completely unrelated to this situation. Emma has decided to stay away from the apartment until Becky has tired out her “Whore Phase”, as Emma had not-so-fondly dubbed it.

As Becky turns to face away from the fourth man of the week — completely unsatisfied, she grumbles — she takes a moment to think about her life and the decisions that had led to this very moment. She’s lying naked in her bed, next to an equally nude man, who Becky thinks might have cried when they finished their round of boring, drunken sex. Not that there’s anything wrong about having feelings about sex, of course. It’s an intimate thing. Having feelings about sex is normal.

It’s just that Becky was very clear at the bar that she was just looking for no-strings-attached sex. She already has enough complicated feelings in her life, thanks to her hot blonde neighbour, so she isn’t very keen on having those same feelings in the bedroom. All she wants is a quick and easy form of stress relief and the hairy arm sliding over her waist _really_ is not it.

Sighing, Becky closes her eyes, and for a moment, she allows herself to imagine that the light finger tracings over her hip bone belongs to a certain small blonde, and everything is perfect. She almost starts to enjoy the light kisses on her neck when she suddenly feels something hard poking her ass. Then she jumps out of the bed, pulling her sheets along with her if only to hold onto a shred of her already severely damaged dignity.

“Out,” she orders in a hoarse voice, vigilantly ignoring her tensed muscles and flushed face. This definitely is not how she had wanted her evening to play out. “Now. You need to get out, now.”

The man looks like a wounded puppy as he stumbles to dress himself, and Becky has to look away to avoid his questioning puppy gaze. He’s cute, she thinks. They probably would have made a beautiful couple had anything ended up happening between them. It really is a shame that her mind is being plagued by a very beautiful, very standoffish blonde woman.

Curse Linda. Curse her and her cockblocking. Of course, she doesn’t know she’s being a cockblock, but Becky is horny and unsatisfied and it’s all Linda’s fault. Honestly, she wouldn’t even be so angry if Linda would just–

Becky shivers and pulls the covers tighter over her body when she unintentionally imagines Linda in her bed. _Bad,_ she chastises, _bad mind._

She shifts uncomfortably as the stranger plucks his phone off her carpeted floor and turns back to face her. She’s surprised she doesn’t recognize him. She supposes Hatchetfield is bigger than she had originally thought.

His eyes are boring into hers when he suddenly says, “I love you.” Then, he leaves without another word. Becky is frozen to her spot as she vaguely registers hearing her front door open and close. It takes Banana brushing up against her legs to snap her out of her daze.

“That was weird, right?” she whispers. Banana yawns in lieu of an actual response, though the feline does take a moment to stare out into the hallway. Becky takes this as an agreement. Banana moves towards the bed.

“No, Banana, wait. I need to change the sheets.”

Men in Hatchetfield are strange, the whole lot of them.

* * *

Becky takes a deep breath and squats down to pet her sprawled-out cat. “Alright, Banana, it’s time.”

Banana just blinks lazily up at her owner. _Okay_ , her eyes say, _you interrupted my nap. Go away._

“If I’m not back by dinner, I put money for pizza on the counter. And if I _never_ come back, then call Tom. He has specific instructions on what to do in the event of my untimely demise.” She pets Banana one last time before standing back up. This could go just fine, or it could blow up in her face again. Regardless, she still needs to try. Casting one last glance at her napping cat, Becky steps out of her apartment and closes the door behind her. She really would miss that cat if she died.

The walk up to Linda’s apartment door is simple enough. It’s when she goes to knock on it that things get complicated. Because she can’t just knock on the door. Apprehension stops her in her tracks, making her second guess this entire ridiculous plan. If Tom is right, and Linda just doesn’t like people, then this is pointless. And for all she knows, Linda might actually have an active social life outside of her apartment. And that’s exactly the problem — Becky knows next to nothing about her.

And what makes her think Linda would want to let her know anything?

No, she can’t think like that. There’s something that keeps drawing her towards this woman she no longer wants to consider a mystery. Something strong, intangible, unrelenting. Of course, it might also just be her huge crush on the tiny blonde that Becky’s only just recently allowed herself to admit to having, but either way, she really wants to see what will happen. Once more, she raises her hand to knock on the door.

“Did you need something?”

Becky jumps and ends up slamming her back on Linda’s apartment door. Linda herself is standing a couple of feet away from her with her arms crossed. This time, her hair is in a neat bun and she’s wearing slacks and a stain-free white shirt. And oh, she’s wearing glasses too. That’s… Great. It’s wonderful, really. Becky’s discovering all sorts of new things about her fledgling attraction to women. Apparently, glasses really works for her.

“Linda! Hi! Gosh, you scare me– _scared_ me, I mean. You scared me.” She would really appreciate it if her spirit would return to its body. “I’m not doing anything weird to your door if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Linda doesn’t look amused, but then again she’s never been amused by Becky. Becky doesn’t even think she’s ever seen the woman without her signature scowl. “Did you need something?” she repeats with a huff.

 _Now or never_ , Becky tells herself. She summons all the courage she has to keep herself from rambling or stuttering anymore and says, “Yes. I wanted to talk to you. Like, in an actual getting to know you kind of conversation. And I know you already said that I blew it, so I’m asking you to give me another chance. My first impression kinda sucked, I know, and so did my second, but I promise the third one won’t be so bad.”

“So that’s it? You just want to get to know me?”

“Mmhmm,” replies Becky.

Linda’s eyes narrow as if she’s suspicious of Becky’s entire face. “There’s no other reason than that?”

Becky opens her mouth to speak, but it’s as if Linda senses that she’s about to omit the embarrassing truth. She sighs. “Okay fine, I might also have a tiny crush on you.”

This whole situation is so strange for her. Becky has obviously had crushes before, and the confessions have always been these awkward yet cathartic moments but never has she had to say it so matter-of-factly. She’s always flowered up her confessions by mentioning the heart and feelings and all that other crap about love.

It’s as she figured: Linda’s different.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Linda says, but there’s so little emotion to it. She sounds neither put off nor flattered. It’s almost like she’s just been told the weather. If Linda were any other person, Becky would most definitely have felt a little offended.

But this is Linda, so she just feels all the more intrigued by her reaction.

“Hey, look, no pressure or anything,” Becky starts. “If you don’t want to do anything then that’s oka—”

“Did I say I didn’t want to do anything?”

Becky doesn’t even try to answer that. She shuts her mouth, standing straight as a board, waiting and agonizing over Linda’s response. Step by step, Linda moves forward and steps directly into Becky’s line of view, and Becky has to look into her piercing gaze. It’s like she’s both looking through her and at all of her. For some reason, the bizarre thought crosses Becky’s mind that Linda is about to eat her. But obviously that doesn’t happen, and Linda definitively responds.

“Pick me up tomorrow, same time. Then we can go get lunch.”

* * *

Tom whistles as Becky finishes her latest update on the whole Linda situation, affectionately titled Operation Tiny Bitch by Jane. Becky, Tom and Jane are gathered in Becky’s living room again, though this time they’re cradling Uno cards instead of beer bottles. Jane skips Becky’s turn the third time in a row, and Becky nearly upends the coffee table in retaliation.

“I gotta say, Becks,” Tom says, slapping a yellow card onto the pile of cards in the middle of the table. “I’m impressed. Who knew Tiny Bitch could actually like someone?”

“I don’t really think she likes me,” Becky replies, glaring at the cards in her hand. “Maybe she’s just trying to get me off her back.”

Jane finally sets down a basic card, allowing Becky to breathe a sigh of relief. Jane smiles supportively, always with that psychiatrist attitude of hers. “I don’t know, Becky. I don’t think she’d go on a date with anyone just to get them to go away. She would probably just bite someone if they annoyed her enough.”

Becky just shrugs, placing down two identical cards from her hand. While she would love it if it turns out that Linda does actually like her, she’s learned not to get her hopes up too high. Especially with someone as cold and aloof as Linda. She’d rather try her best not to get hurt than throw herself way too far into whatever this thing between her and risking getting herself hurt again.

The group continues their game in silence until Jane slaps down her final card — a wild card, and Becky almost loses it. They’re all coming down from a fit of laughter when Tom straightens in his seat and whirls around to frown at Becky. The redhead can only frown back at him, completely confused by his sudden change in demeanour.

Tom’s bushy eyebrows furrow in concern. “Hey, you’re not gonna steal my girlfriend, are you? You’re definitely not allowed to steal your friend’s girlfriend. That has to be against some type of law.”

Becky stares at him like he’s grown two heads. “What? You’re insane.”

“Well, you’re all gay now. And slutty. He’s got a point,” Jane shrugs.

“I’m not gay.”

“Right. Define going on a date with Linda in the context of ‘heterosexual’.”

“I– That’s completely irrelevant. I’ve dated guys.”

“Unimportant. Would you do it with her?”

“Do what with her?”

“You know. Sex.”

Becky turns completely red when she remembers her brief slip up the previous night. “Th- That is so completely inappropriate! We are not having this conversation. And I’m not gay.”

“But you would.”

“Again, I refuse to have this conversation with you.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Becky sighs as she stands and trudges over to the kitchen to grab a beer. If she’s going to be interrogated, she might as well get drunk and try to have some fun with it.

“Okay, fine. Would you do it with someone else?”

“Who?”

“Anyone. Any woman. Megan Fox.”

“That’s not fair. Anyone would do Megan Fox,” Tom cuts in. Jane shoots him a glare, something akin to a warning that he’s stepping into very dangerous territory.

“I wouldn’t.”

Becky blinks up at Jane over her beer bottle as she flops back onto her seat. She squints at the brunette skeptically. “You wouldn’t?”

“You would?” prompts Jane.

“Of course I would. Anyone would.”

“Ha! See? Gay.”

“Megan doesn’t count,” Tom insists. “Pick someone else. Tricia Helfer?”

“I don’t even know who that is.”

“Nevermind, then. Do you think Vanessa Kirby is hot?”

“Tom, you have to pick people we might actually know for this to work,” Jane chided. “Like, I don’t know, what about me?”

Tom slaps a hand over Becky’s mouth before she can even think to answer. “Don’t say anything, Becky. There is no right answer to that question.”

His fingers smell like wood and beer. Becky pries his hand off with a sour frown. “I’m not interested in your girlfriend, Tom. But she is very attractive, I won’t lie about that.”

“So gay, then,” Jane concludes with a decisive nod. “You’re gay, slutty, and forever in denial.”

Becky rolls her eyes in a rare show of sarcastic humour. “Yeah. Fine. I’m gay,” she sighs, swiping the bottle of Jose Cuervo from Jane’s hand and upturning it only to find it disappointedly empty. “I’m gay, I’m slutty, and I’m drunk.”

A moment passes as the three of them sit there, digesting the truth of her statement.

“That’s really hot,” Tom says.

Jane and Becky smack him.

* * *

The lunch feels like it should be an ambiguously happy ending to this strange tale, but it’s actually a brutally awkward affair.

It feels too much like an interview and not, well, whatever it’s supposed to be in Becky’s head. They go to this delicious little deli down the street, and Linda pays for both of their sandwiches after a firm shake of her head when Becky tries to pull out her purse. When she’s not chewing, Linda is answering any and all questions that Becky has. There seems to be no limit to what Linda will share with her.

Becky learns that Linda is an only child and that her parents are still alive but she doesn’t speak to them as much ever since she moved here. She learns that Linda has a Master’s in Accounting, and is in the last round of interviews for an accountant position at this fancy firm downtown. And most surprisingly, she learns that Linda is an artist. Specifically oil painting. It’s a hobby she had picked up while in college, and it eventually evolved into a stress reliever and a creative outlet.

The lunch paints a new, more complex picture — pun definitely intended — of Linda. An abstract piece, one that Becky can’t quite understand just yet because she’s focusing too much on the minor details.

Linda doesn’t ask Becky anything about herself, and when she’s done eating, the lunch is over. She walks out of the deli, leaving Becky with one last question on the tip of her tongue. Is this what she wanted? Did Linda even enjoy herself?

For the rest of the week, Becky’s left wondering if her third impression just wasn’t good enough for Linda. And then she gets a knock on the door, and… and it’s Linda. She’s asking, no, telling Becky to join her for lunch again.

They go to the same deli, order the same sandwiches, sit at the same table, and Linda tells Becky to ask more things about her. Too dumbfounded by this development, Becky decides not to question it.

She learns that Linda is, in fact, allergic to tomatoes and that she hadn’t lied just to get Becky to go away. She learns that Linda didn’t get the accountant position, but already has another interview lined up somewhere else. Apparently, this is routine for her. She also learns that Linda has a lot of experience in dating. Rather, she’s been on a lot of dates with men and women but has never had a long term relationship before.

Just like last time, Linda leaves abruptly once lunch is over. Again, Becky is left alone to process everything that just happened. And again, the next week, Linda’s back at her door telling her to join her for lunch again.

This goes on for almost two months, to the point that Becky’s already fed Banana and dresses up in proper date-but-not-really attire before Linda even knocks on her door. Emma calls the routine sad, and just straight up tells Becky that this whole weekly deli date thing is weird and lame and “You can do better, Becks.”

But Becky learns so much about Linda in those two months, and she’s reluctant to end it for fear of losing any chance she has to get closer to Linda. The painting of Linda she has in her mind becomes more and more vivid, but as Emma pointed out, there’s something that isn’t sitting right with her, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it. And she knows exactly what it is.

On their eighth lunch together, Becky comes right out and asks, “What are we doing?”

Linda wipes the corner of her mouth and replies stoically, “We’re having lunch.” Because after all this time, Becky still hasn’t seen her show any emotion other than disdain over a bad cut of meat in her sandwich two lunches ago.

Becky isn’t afraid to show her frustrations towards Linda though, not anymore. “You know what I mean. Every week, you invite me for lunch and we talk and it’s great! But right after you’re done eating you leave and I don’t hear from you until the next week. What is... _this_ to you?” she asks, gesturing towards them both.

The way that Linda shrugs so apathetically only makes Becky’s exasperation grow tenfold. “It’s part of my schedule. You said you wanted to talk, you were honest about it, so I made time for you in my schedule.”

Two months ago, Becky probably would have found that strangely endearing, but all she feels is hurt and affronted. “Linda, I’m not some appointment on your calendar! When I said I wanted to get to know you– Actually no, you already _know_ why because you made me tell you. I like you, Linda. Kind of a lot. Do you know how long it took for me to admit to myself that I may not be as straight as I had originally thought I was? And I _still_ like you, even though I probably definitely shouldn’t. It’s like you don’t even see me as a person or something.”

Linda puts her half-eaten sandwich down with a strange look in her eyes. “If you want to stop, then we can stop,” she says, always with that coldness.

Becky lets out a pitiful laugh. “God, you really don’t care about me at all, do you?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Becky snaps. This feels so new and dirty to her, this white hot anger she feels. She’s never been this upset with anyone in her life, and it isn’t sitting well with her. Her stomach is churning and she’s about a nanosecond away from just bolting away. But she feels like Linda needs to hear this, and Becky needs to say it because she knows it will continue to eat at her if she doesn’t. “You’re always so careful about what you say and how you say it, that you’re never actually listening! You have never _once_ asked me questions about myself. But that’s only because you don’t care about what I have to say, and you never will because you’re scared. You’re scared that I might push you away before you do it first. If you really were listening, you’d know that I would never do that to you.”

Becky sees it then: a crack in the armor. A subtle wince, a momentary falter in Linda’s voice as she says her name. “Becky…”

But Becky’s had enough. “I’m sorry, Linda. I– I know what I want, and it’s not whatever this is.”

“Becky, wait.”

The redhead doesn’t listen. She stands up, leaving her barely touched sandwich on the table.

And a shell-shocked lunch date all by herself.

* * *

Emma slips into Becky’s bedroom that night and shuts the door behind her with a soft click. She sniffles once, and Becky understands. She turns to lie on her back when Emma flops onto the bed next to her, not bothering to get underneath the covers. They lie there in complete silence for a few moments, listening to the soft jingling of Banana’s collar as the cat does whatever it is she does at 3am on a Saturday night.

Emma lets out a heavy breath. “Love sucks, I think.”

Becky hums a noise of agreement. “Paul?”

Emma doesn’t say anything, just covers her eyes with the back of her arm. Becky patted the brunette’s other arm in a lame attempt at comfort.

“Do you want a hug?” she asks.

It’s something of an old discovery, finding out that Emma Perkins likes cuddling. It had been the very first night Emma had ever stayed over at Becky’s apartment for the night to avoid her sister. Though she’d accepted the couch as her bed, Becky had woken up later that night to find Emma pressed into her front, crying. Neither of them said a word. Becky just wrapped an arm around Emma and fell back asleep. Cuddling had been a normal occurrence since then, and it was only ever done platonically.

And now, as Emma rolls over to accept Becky’s invitation, a sudden thought occurs to Becky. “You know, things would be so much easier if you were my gay awakening,” she voices absentmindedly. “You actually care about me.”

Emma just snorted in amusement. “Gross. But you’re right. I think the only reason we aren’t together is because the universe knows we’d be too powerful.”

Becky attempts a shrug. “Who says we can’t take over the world together as best friends?”

“Who says you’re my best friend?”

“Like you have any other friends.”

“That is hurtful. And unkind. And completely true. Touché, Barnes. When did you get your claws out?”

Becky sighs then, long and heavy. “When I decided to have a crush on the most emotionally unavailable woman ever.”

Emma squeezes her hand once. After a pause, she says, “Well...can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Shut up.”

“I deserved that.”

They fall into a companionable silence once more as Becky shifts into a more comfortable position. There’s a faint thud from outside as Banana probably runs headfirst into a wall again. Becky sometimes wonders how the cat hasn’t died on one of her expeditions. Not that she wants her cat to die, of course. She just wonders.

Emma asks, “It’s okay that I’m here?” in that very Emma way where she tries to say something like it’s a foregone conclusion but it comes out with just the slightest undertone of insecurity.

“Of course,” Becky immediately replies with a firm nod. “My alarm will go off at eight, though.”

“Ew, you have work on a Sunday?”

The ceiling suddenly looks very interesting to Becky. “Um, no. Not exactly.”

“How do you ‘not exactly’ have work on a Sunday?”

She gulps around her suddenly very dry throat and fiddles with a loose string on Emma’s t-shirt. “I, uh, have a date.”

Emma sits up suddenly, whirling around to stare at her with wide eyes. “You have a what? With who?”

 _“What about Linda?”_ goes unsaid.

“With Ed.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

Becky doesn’t reply, just presses her lips together. Emma leans down to shoot her one of her patented incredulous stares. 

“No,” she gasps in pure shock and what Becky thinks sounds like barely held back laughter. “The weirdo one night stand?”

Becky flusters, mouth flapping open and shut as she scrambles to form a defence. “I– Wh– So what if it is?”

“Becky, he told you he loved you after one single round of shitty, drunk sex. Are you actually gonna go on a date with the guy?”

Becky shrugs. “He made quiche.”

“Eccentric Ed made quiche? He doesn’t seem like the type.”

“He made quiche,” is all Becky says in response.

“Becky, you don’t even like quiche.”

“I know. I was just going to bake some backup muffins or something.”

“Or something,” Emma echoes flatly.

“Or something,” confirms Becky.

“Backup muffins aren’t very romantic,” Emma says after a brief pause. Becky chuckles a little at this.

“What, quiche is romantic?”

“Not really, no. Why are you going on such an unromantic date?”

There’s a knowing look in Emma’s eyes now, one which Becky diligently ignores. There isn’t anything to know, anyway.

“Picnics are romantic!” she says in defence.

“Picnics are domestic,” Emma corrects matter-of-factly. “Forgetting you don’t like quiche is romantic.”

“Well, there you go.”

Emma lies back down then, though not before shooting Becky one last disbelieving look. For a while, they just lie there in the dark, Emma warm against Becky’s side. Becky almost drifts off when Emma suddenly says, “Hey, if I stay here, you’re not gonna like, grope me, are you?”

“Goodnight, Emma,” Becky replies with barely concealed amusement.

“Not that I would blame you. Who would? I’m hot. I’m just saying it would be a little weird and awkward. You’re like a sister to me.”

Becky beams at the offhand comment. Her voice is dripping with fond exasperation when she says once again, “Good _night_ , Emma.”

“I mean, you’re great and all, but you’re not my type.”

Becky hits her with her pillow, laughter ringing loudly throughout the dark room.

* * *

Becky wishes she could say that Linda has completely disappeared from her life after her confrontation with the blonde.

But alas, they still live in the same apartment building, and so flashes of platinum blonde hair and sophisticated clothing still manage to catch her gaze sometimes. Becky has taken to blatantly ignoring the woman and taking a different route when she knows they’re about to be stuck in the same place for longer than a second.

The elevator, for example, is a very good example. For some reason, Becky sees the blonde a lot more now than when she was actually trying to get closer to her. It’s frustrating, like some deity above is deliberately putting her in these situations just to amuse themselves.

She’s taken the stairs more than she’d like to admit. It’s exhausting to climb up all the way to the tenth floor, but Becky has never been known to give up. And so she treats the occasional climb up like it’s her cardio for the week. It's nothing. She should be keeping fit, anyway.

* * *

The picnic is unromantic, as Emma so helpfully predicted the previous night.

The park is rather overcrowded with people, being that it’s a Sunday morning, and Ed hadn’t really picked the most ideal spot. This plus the nasty mushroom quiche he’s brought causes Becky’s mood to plummet drastically. But she tries anyway, because she needs to get Linda out of her mind and move on with her life with someone who actually likes her.

She explains to Ed her disdain for quiche, and to his credit, the man easily takes it in stride. He laughs, shrugs it off, and offers to buy her something else to eat. When she brings out the backup muffins she had baked earlier that morning, he seems delighted to try one and even compliments her on them. His sunny attitude makes Becky smile. She thinks she could probably learn to like him.

But then some kid rides their skateboard straight into a tree, and they’re both decent enough people that they rush over to help him out. The boy is fine, even if his ego is a little bruised. Becky turns to Ed to smile and laugh about it only to find the man crouching over near the base of the tree. Concerned, she walks over.

“Ed?” she asks as she crouches next to him. “What’s up?”

He hushes her. In his hands is a newborn baby squirrel, tinier than any Becky had ever seen. “Oh,” she breathes. “Poor thing must’ve fallen out of its nest. Are you gonna put him back up there?”

“I didn’t see a nest when I checked, so I think I’m gonna keep it,” he says in reply, staring intently at the little creature in his hands. Becky falters a little at the strange look in his eyes. She cocks her head at him, eyeing his face carefully.

The man doesn’t even look at her when he says, “I have to go. Gotta take this little guy to the vet.”

“What? Ed—”

“Sorry,” he rushes, though Becky doesn’t think he sounds sorry at all. “Rain check?”

He leaves before Becky can say another word, gently placing the squirrel in the pocket of his hoodie. Becky stands there for a moment, dumbfounded at the strange turn of events.

“Wait, Ed! Your quiche!”

Men in Hatchetfield are weird, indeed.

And now she has a whole container full of soggy mushroom quiches. Grumbling, she heads back to her car, lugging the rather large container along with her. She can only hope that Tom and Jane like quiches.

Ed doesn't end up calling her to reschedule their date. Becky finds that she doesn't care.

* * *

The next date Becky goes on turns out to be almost as disastrous, though at least her date doesn’t leave with a baby squirrel instead of her this time. It isn’t even that bad, really. Besides the fact that the guy casually makes everything sexual, of course.

Now, Becky doesn’t mind sex — it’s fun, and it's good exercise. She even likes sex. She is completely down with joking about it. What she doesn’t like is pointing out the drinks available on the menu and having a fully grown, adult man giggling at the vaguely lewd names. It’s like she’s on a date with a prepubescent boy who’s just found a porny magazine in the store.

All this to say, the date isn’t very pleasant. But Becky stays because he promised to pay for the meal and who is she to turn down a perfectly good free meal? Even if the experience is slightly soured by her date’s immaturity. But then he says he “forgot to bring his wallet”, and Becky has to pull out her card anyways. So much for a free meal.

Becky makes him drop her off two blocks away from her actual apartment building because she definitely does not want any surprise visits from this boy-man. She may be looking for love, but she isn’t _that_ desperate. She practically pushes him away when he has the gall to lean down and try to kiss her. She sprints away when he shoots her an affronted glare.

She pretends she doesn’t see Linda by the elevators and chooses instead to breeze by her without a word and take the stairs. Her apartment isn’t that high up, anyway. Just ten floors up. Totally nothing.

Emma has the decency to look sorry for her when Becky bursts through the front door and flops face first onto the living room couch.

“On a scale of one to getting left behind for a squirrel, how bad was it?”

* * *

Becky’s next date is a woman. They had met during one of Becky’s late night visits to the bar. Becky had been drinking her problems away, and she was soon joined by a pretty blonde woman in somewhat of a similar state of distress. They had started talking, laughing, and Becky had somehow managed to ask her out, even in her drunken stupor. The woman agreed with a smooth, “Took you long enough.”

Becky really likes the woman. Elise. Their dinner date goes extremely well, even if Becky feels a bit out-of-place in the fancy restaurant she takes Elise to. The blonde woman makes her feel at ease, and Becky very much enjoys their date filled with laughter and easy banter.

But something still feels off to her. She refuses to acknowledge the fact that she knows exactly what it is.

When Elise leans in to kiss her, Becky turns so that it lands on her cheek instead. She winces, because is she really so stupid as to reject a kiss from a beautiful woman like Elise? She opens her mouth to apologise, but her date just smiles at her knowingly.

“I know,” she murmurs, placing a reassuring hand on Becky’s arm. “She must be some woman, huh?

Becky bites her lip as heat rises to her cheeks. Their drunken night together at the bar had been spent moaning about their respective pitiful love lives. Elise had shared about how she had found out that her partner of two years had cheated on her. In turn, Becky told her all about her experiences with Linda. It had felt really nice to confess all her repressed anger and disappointment to a neutral party, and the dinner invite had been an admittedly rash decision on Becky’s part.

“I’m sorry,” she says, squeezing Elise’s hand. “I really do like you.”

Elise waves her apology away. “Nah, I knew what I was getting into when I accepted your invite. I’m not completely over my ex, either.”

“I had fun,” Becky offers. It makes Elise grin.

“So did I. We should definitely do this again.”

Becky nods, then says hesitantly after a slight pause, “As friends?”

“As friends,” Elise affirms, still with that beaming grin of hers.

“We could try that new Italian place uptown next time.”

“Sure, that sounds like fun! Any idea when you might be free?”

“I’ll call you.”

“You do that.” Elise leans in to press a chaste kiss to her cheek once more before striding back to her car with a final wave goodbye and a promise to text her.

Becky heads into her apartment building with a smile on her face. As she steps towards the elevator, she pretends she doesn’t feel Linda’s wide-eyed stare burning into her back.

* * *

Emma doesn’t press her when Becky stops going on dates. She just makes hot chocolate and tells her about whatever Paul had done that day. They had gotten over their squabble about a week ago, and Becky thinks she’s never seen Emma happier. It’s a nice sight, really. She’s happy for her.

But it’s hard to pretend like she isn’t completely jealous of her friend. It’s selfish, she knows, but Becky still isn’t over Linda. It’s almost pathetic, how she’s been so affected when Linda looks like nothing had even happened between the two. Becky supposes it’s nice to finally know where she stood in the blonde’s regards, at least.

So it’s hard to smile these days. Becky still tries her best, though. She smiles and laughs and asks questions whenever appropriate. She thinks she’s doing a good job at pretending.

And if Emma notices her muted personality, she doesn’t comment on it. Becky is endlessly grateful for her tact.

* * *

While browsing Facebook, Becky gets the unfortunate suggestion to add Linda as a friend. She makes the mistake of not getting off her laptop immediately after. And she makes the even bigger mistake of going through Linda’s profile.

There are maybe five pictures and zero public posts. Three of the pictures are of Linda back in middle school, one of them is her posing elegantly with her Master’s degree, and the last one is at an art exhibit from a couple of years ago.

Linda’s posing with some important-looking people next to an oil painting that no doubt has to be hers. What catches Becky’s eyes the most, however, is Linda’s expression. There’s a rare softness in her eyes, and a slight rise of the corner of her lip.

A smile.

Becky makes the biggest mistake of wondering what it would be like to see that smile in person.

* * *

It’s been a little over a month since her and Linda’s last “lunch date”. Becky says it with quotation marks now because she still isn’t really sure what it had been in Linda’s eyes. And she doesn’t want to admit that she ever had feelings for the aloof blonde. It’s a defense mechanism or something. Whatever. She isn’t a psychiatrist.

Becky hasn’t seen much of Linda throughout this whole time. All she does get are little glimpses of her in the parking lot or by the elevator. She’s done her best to live comfortably and try to move on, but a realization keeps eating at her.

And the realization is that she hasn’t felt this alone since Stanley.

Linda’s just some girl. There has to be at least twenty other girls like her even in Hatchetfield alone. So why is her absence affecting her this much? They hadn’t even been dating, so it’s not like she misses the feeling of Linda’s arms wrapped around hers or something like that.

It’s odd. And annoying.

What’s even more annoying is that Tom is on some cute, gross road trip with Jane and Emma’s been spending all her time with Paul lately, so that just makes her feel alonelier than she already is.

Alonelier. Becky rolls over on her couch to pick up her phone, checking to see if that’s even a real word. “That’s gotta be real,” she grumbles. “Hey Banana, what do you want for dinner?”

Banana meows unhelpfully before returning to her grooming, licking her chest with what Becky thinks is way too much effort put into it.

“Yeah, pizza does sound good.”

There’s an unexpected knock on her door that doesn’t surprise Becky so much as it annoys her. She rolls over and flops onto the floor, mutters a curse under her breath, and then picks herself up. The old lady next that lives above her has been asking for help a lot lately, and as much as Becky doesn’t mind helping the woman, she doesn’t really appreciate the rude old woman’s thinly veiled insults. If she hears the woman’s tinny voice telling her to change her appearance one more time, Becky refuses to be held accountable for any “accident” that might occur.

Violence is never the answer, but that doesn’t mean some people don’t deserve to be smacked around a little once in a while. “Jesus Christ, Becky,” she admonishes herself, because really, what decent human being goes around thinking about hitting old ladies?

But the person at her door is much shorter than Mrs. Chastity, and a lot prettier, too. And also they’re a woman in her early-to-mid 20s. A woman in familiar-looking overalls and ponytail, but with an unfamiliar look on her tired face. Leaning against her knee is a large canvas, though Becky doesn’t get a good look at it before it’s turned away from her.

“Linda,” Becky greets after a moment, upset at herself that she still loses her breath around this woman. “What are you doing here?”

That look on her face, though unfamiliar, is still identifiable because it’s one that Becky’s had too much experience showing. The furrowed brow, the inability to look the other person in the eye, and the deep frown are all telltale signs of guilt.

“I know I’m a bitch.”

Becky stays silent, feeling a little surprise. She’d never thought that she would ever hear those words from her. Maybe it’s supposed to feel cathartic to hear, but all Becky feels is empathy.

Linda gives a pitiful shrug. “I could blame it on being ostracized as a kid, or the trust issues I have when it comes to relationships, but the truth is that by now, I’ve just.. Chosen to be a bitch. I figure it’s easier to do that than let anyone else get close enough to hurt me again. But with you... I don’t know. You confused me.”

“I confused you,” Becky echoes, with the same tone Linda had used during the whole coffee spill debacle.

“Yes. You...said you liked me, and I guess I kind of liked that. And then I realized that I liked you too. It’s been so long since I’ve ever actually liked anyone, and I was confused and as a result, I did some odd things. Like leaving the deli as soon as I was done eating. I’m not trying to excuse my shitty behaviour, I just felt like I owed you an explanation. And an apology.”

Becky crosses her arms over her stomach and leans against her doorway. She wonders if Linda realizes that she’s using the exact words Becky had said to her when she’d first gone looking for the blonde. Linda takes a breath as the redhead eyes her carefully.

“I apologize for taking advantage of your kindness, and for not treating you the way you should have been treated. You have a good heart, you’re easy to talk to, and you’re…” Here, the woman’s voice lowers significantly, and Becky has to strain to hear her low murmurs.

Becky raises an eyebrow. “You kinda mumbled there. What did you say?”

Linda looks up, staring straight into her eyes. “I said you’re pretty, too.”

Once again, Becky finds herself going silent. The differences between this Linda and the Linda she first met are like night and day. There’s a distinct lack of a scowl on her face, and she just complimented Becky more than once. Becky briefly worries that the world might be ending soon.

The anger she’s supposed to feel at Linda is slowly melting away, but unfortunately, Linda isn’t the only one who has trouble trusting people. Becky’s been burned before, she’s not about to dive directly into fire this time around.

“Thank you for saying that,” she says, staring at the ground at her feet. “But I don’t know if I can accept your apology.”

“That’s fair,” Linda says, gaze also dropping to the floor. “But… Maybe you can accept this?”

She picks the canvas up and their eyes meet for the longest time in this whole conversation. On the canvas is a gorgeous oil painting of Becky sitting by the window with a sunflower in her hand. The details are so precise that Becky can see the listlessness in her own eyes, the florets inside the sunflower, and the reflection of the streets below. As strange as it sounds, Becky cannot keep her eyes off herself.

“I know I never asked, but you strike me as a sunflower kind of person,” Linda says softly.

Becky takes the portrait in her hands, keeping her hands as close to the sides as possible so she doesn’t smudge the paint. Upon further inspection, she also notices Banana in the background curled up on the carpet, and on the coffee table is a… half-unwrapped breakfast burrito. Becky chuckles lowly.

“That bad?” asks Linda.

Becky looks up at her with wide eyes. “No! This is– No, it’s perfect. I love it. I was just looking at the burrito. It’s a nice touch.”

“Oh,” Linda nearly gasps. She shows that much more vulnerability by allowing herself to blush in front of Becky. Becky finds that she rather enjoys the rosy hue of her cheeks. “Thank you. Um, you can keep it if you want. Or you can sell it or throw it away, it’s up to you. I just hope you can accept it as a token of my gratitude, and a peace offering. I might actually… Like you. Still. But I can’t expect you to still like me back, so I hope we can at least be friends or something.

Seeing Linda stumble over her words is an odd sight to behold. Becky lowers the portrait and fixes her eyes on the guilt-ridden artist. “Or something,” she repeats softly.

Linda clasps her hands together tightly and looks out into the hallway. “Right. So. I suppose I should get out of your way now. Thank you for listening.” She steps away from Becky with an awkward nod and makes her way to the stairs. She moves so quickly, Linda might as well have been 6’10 instead of the 5’1 that she is.

And maybe it’s crazy. Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it’s exactly what she needs to do. Maybe it’s a mixture of all these things, and a million other tinier things that compels Becky to carefully set the portrait down and race out her door to follow Linda.

Linda walks fast, but Becky’s able to catch up to her by the stairs. She grabs her hand like an anime protagonist about to confess to their childhood friend. “Wait,” she tells Linda just to complete the analogy.

Linda turns as Becky takes a couple more steps up. For the first time, they’re seeing eye to eye, and Becky finds that she rather prefers this direct eye contact to the usual strain. With uncharacteristic nonchalance masking her nervousness, Becky says, “I’m kinda bored. Do you want to go get lunch?”

* * *

They agree to meet each other in the lobby in 20 minutes, and to go somewhere that isn’t a deli. Becky makes it down to the lobby first after giving her usual goodbye spiel to Banana and putting on a semi-casual outfit for their retry at a first date. It feels like forever, and Becky has started to doubt her outfit until the elevator dings, and out comes–

“Oh, you’re pretty.”

Linda is wearing a gorgeous, ivory-coloured sweater dress devoid of any paint splotches. Her hair is down and straightened in a way that Becky’s never seen before – at least not on the blonde. Linda rolls her eyes at the compliment, but there’s no hiding the blush in her cheeks.

“You ready?” asks Becky.

Linda looks out the front door and then back at the redhead. With that magical, rare smile of hers, she says, “Yes. I think I am.”

Becky has never seen anything more beautiful.

* * *

It’s Emma who first notices the framed portrait hanging on the wall. She’s obviously curious about it, but Becky finds that she’s unwilling to share this side of Linda with anyone else. It feels sacred, and she’d rather eat dirt than ruin this budding thing she has with Linda because of a stupid mistake.

So when her friends press her for details, all Becky does is smile and change the subject. She figures she deserves to be selfish with this one thing in her life.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are appreciated <3


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